Unintended Bait
by Channel D
Summary: Tim, Tony & Gibbs are after suspects on a lobster fishing boat when a freak accident happens to one of them. Will his teammates be able to rescue him in time? Written for the NFA "Teammate Hurt but not dead" challenge.
1. Chapter 1

**Unintended Bait**

**by channelD**

_written for:_ the NFA _Teammate Hurt (but not dead)_ Challenge  
_rating:_ K plus  
_genre:_ action/adventure  
_characters:_ Tim, Tony, Gibbs (non-slash)  
_setting:_ off Gloucester, Massachusetts, USA; late March

- - - - -

**Chapter One**

"Got your seasickness medication, McGee? Better take it now," said Gibbs.

Tim groaned. As Tony pulled the rented sedan off route 128, Tim was unable to enjoy the ocean side beauty of Gloucester, Massachusetts, because he knew would soon be on a lobster fishing boat; a boat going about 30 miles east-southeast to catch up with suspected criminals.

Tony couldn't resist a gibe. "You really should have brought Ziva along instead of McGee, boss. He'll be so busy ralphing for the first couple of miles that he'll be of no use at all."

Resisting the urge to headslap the driver, Gibbs said, "He'll do fine." He then locked eyes with Tim to make sure Tim understood that that was an order, not a vote of confidence.

Tim sighed. He wished Ziva had come, too. It wasn't for lack of space that she didn't come; a recent foot injury had left her a little unsteady, and Gibbs decided a pitching boat would have her falling constantly. She remained in Washington working on cold cases.

It was a sunny March day; any snow that had fallen in the season was gone except for bits of plowed mounds. Not warm, not yet, particularly here along the coast, where the wind off the water was reluctant to release the landlubbers to the soft pleasures of spring. The temperature hovered in the upper 40s(F), and no storms were forecast. It would be a simple matter of meeting the fishing boat and taking the suspects into custody.

They pulled into the appointed meeting place at the appointed pier. A woman they recognized as Lavonne Anderson from her NCIS profile greeted them as they got out. "Welcome, Agents Gibbs, DiNozzo, and McGee. I'm Lavonne. I've got your boat lined up, and you're ready to roll. Or whatever the term is. Set sail? No, that sounds too poetic." She shrugged.

"You're not a native?" Tony grinned. "That doesn't sound like a Massachusetts accent."

She made a face. "Bless NCIS for putting us where we're needed, so they say. I'm from Huntsville, Alabama and would much rather be in the Southeast, but instead they put me in the Newport, Rhode Island office—servicing all of the Northeast and parts of Canada, thank you—and right now I'm on assignment in Maine. Which is where I have to get back to."

"Can you brief us on lobstering?" asked Tim. "We were rushed up here, and didn't get a chance to bone up on it."

"Baby, all I know about lobsters is they taste real good with lots of melted butter. You'll have to ask the captain of your boat for details."

They grinned, thanked her, and waved to the captain on the boat she indicated.

- - - - -

The _Geneva Marie_ was a tidy, trim-looking 42-foot boat. Tony and Tim watched Gibbs' face as his gaze swept the boat and saw that he approved of it. The captain, one Peter Yorrick, was a friendly enough fellow around Gibbs' age, and a fellow Marine; a Maine native who said "Ayep" a lot in place of "yes". He wasn't out fishing, he said, because one of his mates was off getting married and the other was recovering from appendicitis, so he was happy to help out NCIS and relieve his boredom. They all boarded the boat, and tried to get comfortable. Tim already felt ill.

Gibbs happily took the helm and pointed the boat out to sea while Yorrick talked to Tim and Tony about the task of lobstering (staying in range so Gibbs could hear, too): "There's two ways of catching lobstahs. Some people don SCUBA gear and catch the critters by hand. That's fun if ye like SCUBA'ing a lot, but fer the volume, setting lobstah tracks beats it all whole, ayep. Ye kin catch mebbe seven, ten lobstahs a day by hand; using pots might get ye a hundred. So most serious fishermen use pots."

"Pots? The same pots you cook lobsters in?" Tim asked.

Yorrick laughed. "Nay, nay, nay. Another name fer these pots is 'traps'. In this area, and up to the Maritimes, a lot of us fishermen call 'em 'pots'.

"Now our bait is ready fer the pots afore we leave the docks. Herring we use; pickled herring. We put it on the skewer like so. It's called the 'bait box'. Close the pot—" he demonstrated on a wire cage about four feet long—"and the trap is tied with bait cord—" he pulled a length of twine from a pocket—"with a little leather toggle. Thet also ties the pot shut. The pot is then attached to a long, long, length of line, and at the other end of the line we attach a buoy so we know whar the pot is. We hoist the pot overboard, and the next day we kin haul the pots up to see if we caught anything."

"We have to wait a day until we can eat??" Tony looked hungry.

Gibbs ignored him. "How do you prevent too-small lobsters from being caught?"

"Ye can't; not really. But the pots do have a hole in them so small lobstahs thet are clever enough can get out. We measure borderline catch when we bring the pots up. Lobstahs too small are released to the ocean; same with females with eggs. It's one of the few types of fishing that actually seems to be sustaining itself, so it's a good job, and a year-'round one, ayep."

- - - - -

Yorrick took the helm back and urged them all to don the spare bright orange jackets he had on board: they were warm, waterproof, and certainly visible. Out on the ocean, despite the sun, it felt much cooler than it had on land...which was now invisible, somewhere far back there. Not long after Tim's stomach settled down, or seemed to, anyway, the captain took up his binoculars and slowed the engine. "Thar's your boat thar yonder. The _Sharona_."

Gibbs took the binoculars and frowned. It could be any boat lobstering…but if they could get close, so much the better. "Thanks, Yorrick. You take cover. We'll take it from here." He handed the binoculars to Tony and took over for Yorrick at the helm.

Tony was a city boy, but was always good at improvising. Without knowing much more than what he'd seen in the movies, he grabbed the megaphone. "Ahoy, the _Sharona_! We are federal agents. Prepare to be boarded."

The two men on the _Sharona_, reservists suspected of the shooting of a sailor in a bar fight and robbery, were in the middle of pulling up their pots. They couldn't easily gun the boat and just flee.

Gibbs pulled the _Geneva Marie_ alongside; the side opposite the lobster working area. _This will be one of the easiest apprehensions our team has ever had_, he thought. In fact, the suspects already had their hands in the air. Tony, then Tim, clambered onto the Sharona, guns drawn, and cuffed the suspects.

"Oh, man; how're we supposed to climb onto your boat when we're handcuffed??" one of the perps growled.

"Oh, you don't have to worry about that," Tony cooed. "We'll just attach you to a line and tow you back to port; how would that be?"

Tim snorted, and stepped around one of the men to make way for Gibbs. The plan was that Gibbs would come on board and take this boat back to port, with Tim and Tony watching the suspects, and Yorrick would take his own boat back.

An unexpected swell made the boat pitch then, and Tim stumbled into a pot line, which got wrapped around his foot. He flailed, and knocked a pot on the railing over the side of the boat. The line on his foot flipped up to his ankle, where it tightened, and the electric hauler let the line out rapidly. Tim was yanked over the side and pulled into the ocean's depths almost before Tony and Gibbs could cry out.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Tony kicked off his shoes, shed the orange jacket, and dived over the side where they'd seen Tim go in. Down, down he swam, quickly losing the natural light carried by the upper part of the water. He broke to the surface, free as a dolphin. "_Light_!" he gasped. "_Flashlight_!"

"Ye ever SCUBA dived, son?" asked Yorrick. At Tony's nod, Yorrick whisked out a tank and a face mask with lamp. Tony scrambled back into the boat long enough to put them on, then dropped back into the water while Gibbs was donning a second set of gear.

This was much better, even though he was diving without a wet suit. Tony traced the lines down, praying they didn't go too far. There were three lines; crossing each other. _Which one?_

A shadow crossed his path, and he looked up. It was Gibbs. Gibbs motioned downward, urgently. He was right: saving Tim meant no time for reflection.

Another 20 feet, 30 feet, 40 feet…_There._ They could see him, tangled in the lines and the pot. It looked like one hand was rammed through the little escape hole for undersized lobsters. But worse, his head looked like it was caught in the pot's main door. His ankle, now his whole lower leg, was still wrapped in a line, and another line was wrapped around his torso. _Thank God for that,_ Gibbs thought. _If it weren't for the lines crossing, he would have plummeted to the ocean floor._

Gibbs got as close to Tim as he could. Tim was conscious, and struggling, though obviously running out of air. Gibbs grabbed his shoulder to get his attention, and then stuffed his breathing tube into Tim's mouth. Tim sucked on with all his might until a bit more focus came back into his eyes and he handed it back to Gibbs. Tony counted to 10, and then extended his own breathing tube to Tim.

Movements underwater are slow and exaggerated. Gibbs found his knife and started hacking at the lines imprisoning Tim. Suddenly Tim started thrashing wildly and Gibbs' knife slipped, ramming into Tim's side. With horror, Gibbs pulled out the knife. His thoughts were chaotic_: Do something about the wound! Find out what set Tim off!_

Tony tapped Gibbs' shoulder and pointed: a dark shape wiggled in the cage where Tim's head was stuck: a lobster, and one of his claws had seized Tim's ear! It would have been comical if the entire situation wasn't so serious. No wonder Tim was thrashing; it must be very painful. Tony waved his hand at the crustacean, but it didn't budge. He tried getting his knife in between the wires, but it didn't go far enough to do more than tap the hard-shelled creature. Leaning close, he tried shining his head lamp directly in its eyes. The eye stalks swiveled and the lobster waved its free claw in apparent agitation, but didn't let go of Tim's ear.

A rough shake on Tony's arm broke his concentration. Gibbs mimed to him to pass his breathing tube to Tim. Feeling guilty for his lack of focus, Tony did so.

Gibbs was still cutting the lines; a slow process. Even worse was the bitter cold temperature of the water. They would all have to surface soon to avoid hypothermia. Tony started cutting lines as well, though passing the breathing tube back and forth to Tim every 10 seconds or so took away a lot of his concentration.

Tim's eyes started losing their shine, and at one point he didn't take the breathing tube when Tony offered it. Tony shoved it in Tim's mouth and held it there, hoping Nature would help Tim out. _Hurry!_ he gestured to Gibbs.

At last the lines were gone! Tony tried to gently pry Tim's head from the lobster pot, but Gibbs signaled _up_ and pulled Tim by his free hand. Tony took the other shoulder. They could get the pot off when they had safely surfaced.

"Jumping Jehosephat!" said Yorrick when they surfaced. "I was worrying about ye, I was." He helped Gibbs into the boat, and then the two of them helped Tim (whose hand was still in the trap). Yorrick quickly rounded up blankets for the three men, while Tony and Gibbs sought to get Tim out. Weak, cold, and in pain, Tim was on the verge of passing out, even as he gulped down air.

"Hold still, McGee. We'll get you out of this," said Gibbs. Tim was definitely wedged. Gibbs nodded thanks when Yorrick handed him wire cutters, and started snipping away. With each snip, Tim flinched and looked on the verge of tears. Still the lobster held his ear. Seeing this, Yorrick lit his cigarette lighter and waved it close to the lobster's other claw. In moments the lobster let Tim go and retreated to the far end of the pot.

The minutes dragged as Gibbs snipped. Tony, encouraged by Yorrick, pulled Tim's sweater and jacket off (as far as his left wrist), and did the same with his pants, boxers, socks and shoes. Yorrick had a spare set of dry clothes that mostly fit, and these Tony put on Tim, after bandaging the knife wound in his side. Tony recognized the signs of hypothermia setting in on Tim: the drowsiness; the pale, cold skin; the confusion, shivering, and slowed breathing. "We need to get him to a hospital. Fast," said Tony to Yorrick.

Gibbs sighed and stopped snipping. "Yeah, that's probably more vital than freeing him from this thing at this point." Tim moaned a little and Gibbs patted his shoulder.

"Ye both need dry clothes," said Yorrick, "and I have no more to lend ye. Take off yer shirts, at the least, and put the orange jackets back on. They're dry, and will keep ye warm."

"I've never experienced hypothermia," Tony remarked. "Another for my personal list of job-related injuries." His voice shook as he shivered uncontrollably.

Gibbs stared at him, while trying to keep down his own shivering. "You going to be okay until we get back to Gloucester, DiNozzo?"

"Oh, yeah. P-p-p-piece of c-c-c-ake, boss."

"This is a problem," said Gibbs. "We've got two boats that need to get back to shore, and six people, counting our suspects. I could normally helm one of the boats, but if I start chilling more…"

"Boss, don't tell me you're going to uncuff one of the perps," said Tony.

"Not even on a good day. Yorrick, if we sit in the cabin and warm up, will that help?"

"In the short term, ayep. But yer man McGee shouldn't wait on the hospital. I can see he's bleeding, too. And thar's the fact thet we got clouds coming in. Thar could be a gale."

"The weather was fine when we set out!" Tony complained.

"Ayep, but on the water, it can change. We can't wait. We must get back to land." The water had become much more choppy and the wind stronger.

They decided that Yorrick would pilot his own boat, and Gibbs would pilot the suspects' boat. Tony and Tim would ride with Gibbs; Tony keeping an eye on both the suspects and Tim.

After the boats started up, Tony tried for a few minutes to continue cutting the pot off Tim, but gave up shortly. The boat was too unsteady. "Please, Tony; get this off me," Tim begged, his speech slightly slurred. "Please."

It hurt Tony to have to shake his head, but he did so. "Soon, Probie. Soon. Just stay calm." He lifted up Tim's jacket and shirt, and winced on seeing that the bandage on his side wound had bled through.

On his way to get the first aid kit from the cabin, Tony mentioned this to Gibbs. "I've already radioed for an ambulance to meet us at the docks, DiNozzo. They said the Coast Guard wouldn't likely get here any faster, so I didn't bother with them. Not much else I can do."

"Yeah, I guess…you staying warm there, boss?"

"I'm fine. No reason why you and McGee need to be out there on deck in this wind, though. You two, come on inside the cabin."

"You don't need to ask me twice, but what about the suspects?"

"They're dry. They're fishermen. They'll be fine on the deck."

- - - - -

Tony found a straw in a cupboard and remembering that warm, sweetened fluids were good to give a hypothermic patient who can swallow, heated up some Dr. Pepper for Tim. After Tim slurped down a mugful through a straw, Tony heated up more for himself and Gibbs. They had to stay warm, too; Tim was depending on them to get him to safety.

Rain started snapping at the windows, and Gibbs swore. It was getting harder to see the _Geneva Marie_, ahead.

"We should bring the suspects into the cabin, boss," Tony said reluctantly. "If they wash overboard, someone might get mad at us."

"Do it, then," said Gibbs. "But be sure to attach them to something at the far end of the cabin. We don't want them wandering loose."

"On it."

Tony brought in the first suspect he came to, and tied the snarling, swearing man to a grab bar at the back of the cabin. As the swearing continued, Tony said to him, "Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?" Shaking his head, Tony went out for the second man.

That man was more subdued. As Tony relaxed a little and fumbled for more rope to tie him, the man suddenly brought his hands up and cocked Tony on the jaw. As Tony cried out and fell, the man sat on him, and brought his very limber, handcuffed hands around Tony's throat.

"You got one choice, copper," he called to a startled Gibbs. "You take us up to Portland, right now."

"Portland, Maine?" Gibbs hedged. "I don't know if we have enough gas for that."

"Of course you do, idiot. Do it, or your buddy here dies. What do you say?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Gibbs sucked in his breath. "I guess we're going to Portland," he said calmly. "I assume there's a navigational chart in the cabin somewhere." He reached for a drawer with his right hand but couldn't stretch far enough. "Got a problem" he announced. "I can't search the cabin and hold onto the wheel at the same time."

Tim lay on the floor, on a blanket Tony had found for him. In his mind Tim fancied he could hear Tony say, _"Maybe there's a gas station around here? We could stop and ask for directions. And get some sodas. I'd love a cold Coke right about now. And maybe a chocolate bar. Oh, and—"_ But Tony wasn't saying that. In fact, he was making little gasping noises as the perp's handcuffs cut into his neck; the perp himself sitting on Tony's back. The guy wasn't falling for Gibbs' distraction. If something wasn't done quickly, Tony could die, even unintentionally.

Pain was shaking Tim's body from the inside out, it felt. One line of pain came from his left side—he was vaguely aware that something had happened to his side, but he wasn't sure what. Another chute of pain ran along his right leg, which he remembered had been trapped by the pot line; trapped and then stretched tightly. The line was gone, but there was still the problem of having his head and one hand in the pot.

Tim had been trained at FLETC, and in NCIS' advanced training classes, on how to remain calm in all sorts of dire situations. Panic _never_ helped. Only a calm mind could think clearly. He tried rolling a feeling of calmness over all of his pains, and they did lessen a little. Now to figure this out…

A new sound, like a gurgle, from Tony made up his mind for him. Enraged, Tim sprang for the perp with a roar; his concern overcoming his pain.

Startled, the crook moved to get away from the strange sight of a man with a lobster pot on his head, coming at him. To do this, he had to get his handcuffed hands away from Tony's neck. Nimbly he slipped his hands over Tony's head, leaving Tony to rise partly up and then hit the floor, gasping. The perp was unable to get away fast enough, however. Tim came at him like a ship doing a full-steam-ahead; head, or lobster pot, first, and bowled the man over, butting him with the cage a few times for good measure, until the man was pleading for him to stop.

Gibbs was first stunned with the events, but quickly started shaking with laughter. "That's…enough, McGee," he finally said, and added, "Have some respect for your injuries. We're still pretty far out from Gloucester, near as I can tell."

By now, Tony was feeling his throat gingerly, but sitting up. "Don't mess with Lobster Pot Man," he warned the perp, his voice raspy. "He can be very dangerous. Very, very dangerous." He seized the perp, caught the rope Gibbs tossed to him, and tied the man to a chair that was bolted to the floor.

Tim groaned and flopped back down on the blanket. "I thought I had enough hurts. Now my head hurts, too."

"Yeah, whine whine whine," Tony teased. "I was going to find you some more Dr Pepper earlier, and got sidetracked," he said, checking Tim's injuries. "Let me do that now."

Coming up to Gibbs, Tony said in a low tone, "I think he's bleeding through his bandage again, boss. Can't you make us go any faster?"

Gibbs frowned. "Not really. And I'm still going blind without charts. Here, take the wheel and I'll see if I can find some." He put Tony's hands on the wheel, and stepped aside.

"Take the—_Boss_! I've never driven one of these things!!"

"Pretend it's a Ferrari, but don't give it too much gas. And no drag racing, if you see another boat." With a grin, Gibbs started poking around the cabin, opening drawers.

_See another boat…!_ All Tony could see was water; gray swells of water. For all he knew, they were headed for Bermuda…or Greenland. _Any_ land would be a welcome sight now. He thought about the movie _The Perfect Storm_, about New England fisherman in a boating tragedy, and shuddered. Think about something else…His mind glommed on _Titanic_, and he quickly dismissed that. _The Little Mermaid_? At least it was bright and cheerful, and had a happy ending. And that singing crab. He started humming _Under the Sea_ without realizing he was doing so. Gibbs gave him a look, rolled his eyes, and went back to searching.

After a stop to check Tim's bandage and give him the promised soda, Gibbs finally found the nautical chart he needed, wrapped in a tube and marked with the GPS waypoints. Now he could check that against the boat's navigation system. The steering control signal would inform the steering motor and set a course for Gloucester. Gibbs took the wheel back from Tony, who said he'd prefer to stick to cars after this.

The boat, traveling northwest, was fighting the northeast wind, but going at 20 knots, it still made the roughly 20 mile distance in about 40 minutes. When in cell phone range, Gibbs called the Gloucester authorities and found they were still waiting at the dock.

"Any problems, Agent Gibbs?" asked the deputy.

"We ran out of Dr Pepper," said Gibbs. "And those guys don't stock coffee."

"I'll put that down on the list of charges."

- - - - -

At the hospital, despite Tim's protests, the staff chose to attend to his side wound, first, instead of freeing him from the pot. Tim had to endure Tony taking several pictures of him with the pot still on his head and hand. "You know the Director," Tony said, calmly. "She likes to have a complete report. And she'd never believe this without the pictures!"

"You're fortunate, Agent McGee," said the doctor, after tests. "The knife wound just nicked your spleen, but I think that won't cause any lasting problems. The spleen has already stopped bleeding internally. We'll rebandage you, and keep an eye on it. Now for the pot…this may be even more painful, I'm afraid…"

Removing the pot took over an hour. It involved wire cutters, yanking and twisting, and was indeed painful with every jarring snip. It took over an hour to get it all off. As a last gruesome bit, the attacking 

lobster that had seized Tim's ear was now dead, and fell across Tim's face when the last of the pot was peeled off.

"Want a souvenir, Probie?" Tony grinned. Tim snatched the dead lobster with his right hand and tried to stuff it down Tony's pants, but Tony was too quick for him.

Tim lay back on the hospital bed with a sigh. His face, ear, hand, side, ankle and leg were mostly free of hurt, now that the painkillers were kicking in. "I want dinner," he announced. "And something to drink other than Dr Pepper."

Gibbs looked at the doctor, who shrugged. "No reason why he can't have whatever he wants," said the doctor.

"Well, I was thinking…" said Tony.

"No, Tony. No lobster," Tim insisted.

"…of a little local specialty…"

"No lobster!"

"…are you familiar with _fra diavolo_, Probie?"

"A spicy tomato-based dish, usually with chicken, but sometimes with lobsters. Have it if you want, but bring me back a burger or something."

Tony nodded. "Okay. Your loss."

- - - - -

Tony left to get take-out for the three of them. Gibbs drew a chair up close to Tim's bed. "I'm sorry, McGee," he said, and his face showed he meant it.

"For what, boss?"

"You may not remember it, but when you were…stabbed…that was my fault."

Tim blinked, and waited, dumbfounded, for more information.

"You…thrashed. When the lobster was attacking you, and you were running out of air, too. I was trying to cut the line, and…my hand slipped. God help me. I never meant for that to happen. I should have had better control."

Tim had never heard anything like this come from Gibbs. "It sounds like an accident, boss. Accidents just happen," he said in a whisper.

Gibbs looked a little sterner then, and didn't meet his eyes. "Someday you'll have a team of your own, Tim. If you ever injure one of them, it won't matter that it was an accident. You'll carry guilt with you, forever." He got up. "Be right back. I need coffee."

As Gibbs left the room, Tim's eyes teared up. He wasn't the only one who'd been hurt today, and it seemed like Gibbs would be a lot longer in healing.

- - - - -

Tim accepted carefully, in his uninjured right hand, the Styrofoam carton Tony brought back. "This my burger? Thanks…"

He opened it up and gaped. _"Tony!!"_

"What?" Tony said innocently, forkful of lobster halfway to his mouth. "You only said 'no lobster'."

Glumly Tim looked at the braised crayfish, which looked a lot like a little lobster. "I did, didn't I? Oh, well."

He dug in, as Gibbs and Tony did. It tasted pretty good!

-END-


End file.
